Part 30 (1/2)

”Christa is my date for tonight,” the Gentleman exclaimed in an enthusiastic voice. He'd made his choice. Casanova had given him a present-to do with as he pleased.

Christa Akers tried to smile. That was the house rule. But she couldn't. That was what the Gentleman especially liked about her: the delicious fear in her eyes. the delicious fear in her eyes.

He was ready to play kiss the eyes. kiss the eyes.

One last time.

Part Five

Kiss the Girls

Chapter 102.

THE MORNING after the arrest of Dr. Wick Sachs, Casanova strolled the corridors of the Duke Medical Center. He calmly turned into Kate McTiernan's private room.

He could go anywhere now. He was free again.

”h.e.l.lo, my darling. How goes the wars?” he whispered to Kate.

She was all by her lonesome, though there was still a Durham policeman stationed on the floor. Casanova sat on the straightbacked chair beside her bed. He looked at the sad physical wreck that had once been such an outstanding beauty.

He wasn't even angry with Kate anymore. There wasn't much to be angry with now, was there? The lights are still on, The lights are still on, he thought as he stared into the vacant blue he thought as he stared into the vacant blue eyes, but there's n.o.body home, is there, Katie? eyes, but there's n.o.body home, is there, Katie?

He enjoyed being in her hospital room-it got his juices going, turned him on, moved his spirit toward great things. Actually, just sitting beside Kate McTiernan's bed made him feel at peace.

That was important now. There were decisions to be made. How, exactly, to handle the situation with Dr. Wick Sachs? Did more tinder need to be thrown on that fire? Or would that be overkill, and therefore dangerous in itself?

Another tricky decision would have to be made soon. Did he and Rudolph still have to leave the Research Triangle area? He didn't want to-this was home-but maybe it had to be. And how about Will Rudolph? He had clearly been emotionally disturbed in California. He had been taking Valium, Halcion, and Xanax-that Casanova knew knew of. Sooner or later he was going to blow it for both of them, wasn't he? On the other hand, it had been so unbearably lonely when Rudolph was away. He'd felt cut in half. of. Sooner or later he was going to blow it for both of them, wasn't he? On the other hand, it had been so unbearably lonely when Rudolph was away. He'd felt cut in half.

Casanova heard a noise behind him at the hospital room door. He turned-and smiled at the man.

”I was just leaving, Alex,” he said, and got up from the chair. ”No change here. What a d.a.m.n shame.”

Alex Cross let Casanova slide by him and out the door.

He fit in anywhere, Casanova thought to himself as he walked away and down the hospital corridor. He was never going to be caught. He had the perfect mask. Casanova thought to himself as he walked away and down the hospital corridor. He was never going to be caught. He had the perfect mask.

Chapter 103.

THERE WAS a fine old upright piano inside the barroom at the Was.h.i.+ngton Duke Inn. I was there playing Big Joe Turner and Blind Lemon Jefferson tunes between four and five one morning. I played the blues, the blahs, the doldrums, the grumps, the red a.s.s. The hotel maintenance staff sure was impressed.

I was trying to put everything I knew together. I kept circling back to the same big three or four points, my pillars to build the investigation on.

Perfect crimes, both here and in California. The killers' knowledge of crime scenes and police forensics.

Twinning between the monsters. Male bonding as it had never existed.

The disappearing house in the woods. A house had actually disappeared! How could that happen?

Casanova's harem of special women-but even more than that, the ”rejects.”

Dr. Wick Sachs was a college professor with questionable morals and actions. But was he a stone-cold murderer without a conscience? Was he the animal who had imprisoned a dozen or more young women somewhere near Durham and Chapel Hill? Was he a modern-day de Sade?

I didn't think so. I believed, I was almost certain, that the Durham police had arrested the wrong man, and that the real Casanova was out there laughing at all of us. Maybe it was even worse than that. Maybe he was stalking another woman.

Later that morning, I made my usual visit to Kate at Duke Medical Center. She was still deep in a coma, still listed as grave. The Durham police no longer had an officer on guard outside her room.

I sat vigil beside her and tried not to think about the way she had been. I held her hand for an hour and quietly talked to her. Her hand was limp, almost lifeless. I missed Kate so much. She couldn't respond, and that created a gaping, painful hole in my chest.

Finally, I had to leave. I needed to lose myself in my work.

From the hospital, Sampson and I drove to the home of Louis Freed in Chapel Hill. I had asked Dr. Freed to prepare a special map of the Wykagil River area for us.

The seventy-seven-year-old history professor had done his job well. I hoped the map might help Sampson and me find the ”disappearing house.” The idea came to me after reading several newspaper accounts of the golden couple murder case. Over twelve years ago, Roe Tierney's body had been found near ”an abandoned farm where runaway slaves had once been hidden in large underground cellars. These cellars were like small houses under the earth, some with as many as a dozen rooms or compartments.”

Small houses under the earth?

The disappearing house?

There was was a house out there somewhere. Houses didn't disappear. a house out there somewhere. Houses didn't disappear.

Chapter 104.

SAMPSON AND I drove to Brigadoon, North Carolina. We planned to hike through the woods to where Kate had been found in the Wykagil River. Ray Bradbury had once written that ”living at risk is jumping off a cliff, and building your wings on the way down.” Sampson and I were getting ready to jump.

As we trudged into the foreboding woods, the towering oaks and Carolina pines began to shut out all light. A chorus of cicadas was thick as mola.s.ses around us. The air wasn't moving.

I could imagine, I could see, see, Kate running through these same dark green woods only a few weeks earlier, fighting for her life. I thought of her now, surviving on life-support systems. I could hear the machine's Kate running through these same dark green woods only a few weeks earlier, fighting for her life. I thought of her now, surviving on life-support systems. I could hear the machine's whoosh-click, whoosh-click. whoosh-click, whoosh-click. Just the thought hurt my heart. Just the thought hurt my heart.

”I don't like it in the deep dark woods,” Sampson confessed as we pa.s.sed under a thick umbrella of twisted vines and tent-like treetops. He had on a Cypress Hill T-s.h.i.+rt, his Ray-Ban sungla.s.ses, jeans, workboots. ”Reminds me of Hansel and Gretel. Melodramatic bulls.h.i.+t, man. Hated that story when I was a little kid.”

”You were never a little kid,” I reminded him. ”You were six foot when you were eleven, and you already had your cold stare down to a fine art.”

”Maybe so, but I hated those Grimm Brothers. Dark side of the German mind, turning out nasty fantasies to warp the minds of little German children. Must have worked, too.”